


A Sudden Sense of Liberty

by telemachus



Series: Waves of Glory [11]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: City of London - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, Money, gratuitous British-isms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which we Find out a bit more about What Rich Surfer-Boy Legolas Actually Does All Day......a sequel to (I Want to Sleep with) Common People Like You. But written to stand alone.</p>
<p>Originally written for the Teitho challenge, 'Money', in which it placed joint third (alongside a wonderful medieval AU, which you should go & read).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sudden Sense of Liberty

**Author's Note:**

> Title from True Faith by New Order
> 
> "I feel so extraordinary, something's got a hold on me,  
> I got this feeling I'm in motion, a sudden sense of liberty......"
> 
>  
> 
> .

Fucking bloody pissing Jubilee line.

Fukcing bloody pissing Starbucks full of idiots.

Fucking bloody security pass which decides this morning – of all bloody mornings – to stop working.

Doesn't take long to sort out, but – it’s just one more sodding thing.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Can’t remember the last time I was this late in to the office.

Calm down, Las. But I hate being late, I hate it, I hate it. Only somehow – at the moment – I always seem to be.

Never used to be.

Never used to get the Tube – used to walk, run sometimes, it’s not far – but – these days that extra twenty minutes in bed – seems precious.

Shit.

But – it’s not so bad. None of my desk say anything – well, they raise eyebrows, they smile, they know how it is. End of the day, we all use the Tube, we all get stuck queuing in coffee shops, we all have the security pass moments – we all have reasons to stay in bed in the morning.

Hurray.

Finally, I do too.

At least, normally it wouldn’t be so bad.

This morning, even as I am still faffing about with hot coffee, putting bag down, jacket off, adjusting chair – which seems to have grown overnight, very witty, very clever – waking computer, passwords, scanning emails, Bloomberg, Reuters for the market news, my desk second leans over.

“Not the best morning to be late,” she says, “just so you know. That new guy’s turned up – the hedge fund one – been round already wanting to get to know everyone, work as a team, all the rest of it. Keen, eager type. Sees himself as a motivator, I think. Probably want us all to go paintballing on a Saturday.”

We exchange looks.

Oh for fucks sake, no.

Don’t need that kind of shit. My desk works together fine, thank you very much, mister sodding motivator. We don’t need your day trading, short term, market manipulations. 

Sodding tosser.

And I haven’t even met him yet.

I’m still trying to get my head in gear when he comes round again.

On his own this time.

“Legolas, good to see you again,” he says, hand out, and – for a moment, I am completely blank – do I know you? I think, and then – no, surely not? I wouldn’t have – ever – surely – we haven’t – have we – _met?_ Then it hits me. 

“Fuck me,” I say, relieved because no, “Arwen’s bloke.”

Yes. I remember. Scruffy bugger. Doesn't clean up much for the office either, I notice. 

And then – oh dear Eru – the tie.

He’s actually wearing an Old Etonians’ tie.

Shit.

Doesn’t he know what they say? If you wear it, you ain’t entitled to it. And these days, it’s hardly the passport to acceptance, hardly the way to make friends, not in the City any more than anywhere else. 

Used to be, back before the ‘80s, before Thatcher’s Children, before the City got wise to public school shit-for-brains, and started hiring people – any sort of people – for what they knew, what they could do, not for who they knew, who they were.

He follows my glance,

“Yes, I believe we have that in common as well,” he says, still smiling, still friendly, hand outstretched, waiting, “although I believe you’d have left by the time I got there.”

Yes, yes I believe I would.

Being an elf, I may look – thirty – on a bad day – but – I’m a bit more. Let’s leave it at that. Whereas you – you look – well, late forties, but I suspect – from the bounce – it’s a bit less. Or else you have some kind of mixed blood.

Actually, if Elrond’s consented to you marrying Arwen, that could be it.

Anyway.

I manage something inane, not up to my usual standard, and he wanders off, convinced we will work well together.

Or some such shit.

I don’t care. Truth be told, these days I’m just – clock-watching. 

First time in my life, first time I’m waiting for the day to end, to go home, to – to switch off from work, and switch on to – the rest of my life.

Honeymooning.

Won’t last, I don’t suppose. 

Better not, not really. But – I’ve worked damn hard over the years, I reckon I’m allowed a couple of months with my eye not quite on the ball.

Anyway.

I get used to Aragorn, Telcontar as he – and Eru fucking Iluvatar preserve us from Old Boys – tries to introduce himself.

Apparently he has more nicknames, more aliases than any honest person should – tries them, to see if they catch on, make him more one of the lads. He doesn't seem to get it – there are no “lads”. 

This isn’t that sort of place – thank fuck. It’s all about doing the job, making money for clients – and these days, keeping compliance happy. 

And then we go home, separately, to our lives.

Those of us who have them, of course.

 

 

 

It takes me a while to realise – and why should I? – that Aragorn – doesn't. Not really, not in London.

Everything he talks about is either work – or – Arwen. 

No. Not even Arwen – and Aule knows, I’d be the last to laugh at that, that need to talk and talk about the one you miss – but with him it’s the whole family.

He’s some kind of foster-son, something like that, and it makes sense. The desperate need to wear the tie, to show he belongs, to use the odd word of Quenya, of Sindarin – and fuck, I don’t do that, not in front of not-elves, it’s just rude – the way he has to show he knows traditions, customs, has to mention that he’s up to Hertfordshire this weekend, to see the Family. 

I’m not sure he’s marrying Arwen, I think he’s marrying in.

I notice she never comes down to see him.

Never.

Poor bastard, I think.

But – he takes the work so damn seriously.

 

 

 

Morning meeting.

Shit, but I feel rough.

Again.

“Out last night?” Kate asks, and – she’s the best second I could have, she has the notes I should have printed ready for me when I breeze in, late, again, coffee in hand – one for her, too, I’ve got in the habit recently. If I’m queuing anyway.

I nod, and – I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have.

But – London’s still a novelty, still exciting, to G. And – being part of a couple – having someone to go out and about with – still feels new and wonderful.

Trouble is, G doesn't have to get up in the morning.

Anyway.

Try to focus.

Meeting drags on, as meetings do.

Then – oh sweet Elbereth – just when it looks like we’re nearly through – Aragorn starts up. Just got his FCA approval through – can actually make decisions on his accounts now – and – oh for fucks sake – wants us all to have team reactions, work together, pull together, some such. 

Which, apparently, can be interpreted to mean – he doesn't think some of the stocks other people have picked are any good – so we should all get out of them.

Oh do calm down dear, I think, the Old Etonian in me showing.

He keeps talking, and – shit – he’s making a big point about some of my stuff. My solar-panel-producers. 

Fuck off, scruffy.

Yes, ok, I accept, they’re not doing as well as I hoped, not right now. But – you have to think long term, big picture – this isn’t day-fucking-trading.

Advantage of being an elf.

I always think long term.

Solar panels, wind turbines, other renewable, green energy, call it what you like – all these things are up and coming, they’re the future; they’re where the smart money is.

We both get fairly heated.

He’s wrong.

And – I don’t understand why he’s so insistent, why he thinks it matters so much – it’s not personal, surely?

I win this round, and, ironically, because he’s made so much of the “being a team, pulling together” crap, he can’t just take his funds out of it anyway. He has to back my line.

He flings off to his desk, face like – cliché warning – thunder.

Kate and I saunter back to ours, and – I can’t help it – I toss my hair, and put a little extra – swing – in my steps.

But I also can’t help noticing just how low and miserable he looks.

 

 

 

Couple of weeks later – and there’ve been some more disagreements, mostly the same, but other things too – he’s really starting to get on my nerves – I’m lunching with Ada. Not something we do often – he isn’t really based that near my office – and we both tend to not take lunch – but – well, evenings aren’t so easy now. I – I love Ada, but – I want, need, to be with G. 

They get on fine, Ada loves me too much – they both do – not to, but – well. It’s not the same. I suppose it’s another thing that might be so different if Naneth was still alive – but we don’t talk about that.

Anyway.

Ada mentions something about Elrond, and it reminds me, so I tell him all about bloody Aragorn, and I get a shock.

“Ion-nin, you should – possibly – listen to him. I hear he isn’t such a fool as he looks, isn’t just trading on name, on connections. He has some talent. I hesitate to say – make a friend of him, back him – he is still a mortal – but – he may have the makings of someone you will be glad to know.”

I look at him, silenced.

Ada?

Ada said that?

Ada never, but never, praises mortals. 

Ada never, but never, tries to tell me what to do at work.

He shrugs, slightly, as he does, and raises his glass, drinks.

“Just a thought,” he says, and then, “but enough of such tediousness. Now – what was this about a motorbike? Bad idea, Legolas, very, very bad idea.”

And I – I am a rebellious teen-equivalent once again, arguing that it’s my money; I can spend it how I like.

 

 

 

But I think about Ada’s words.

Later, I see Aragorn – and I could just walk on by – but – somehow I don’t. He’s sitting in a meeting-room – a small one, and I daresay he thinks he has privacy; the door is shut, the blinds down. He hasn’t remembered about elf-eyes. I can only see his silhouette, but – it’s enough to know it’s him, and he’s feeling pretty – low.

Something makes me go in.

“Are you alright?” I ask, and – it’s a stupid question, but – he doesn't give it the scornful look or harsh reply it deserves.

“No. Not really,” he runs a hand through his hair, and I think – no wonder he always looks so unkempt – that and the – presumably – not very good razor. Like I know anything about razors. I suppose Arwen must like the look. He sighs, and then, “I don’t suppose there is any point my trying to hide it from you. Gossip being what it is, elves being elves, no doubt you will hear. Elrond – Elrond consented to the engagement, but – he or maybe Celebrian – I don’t know – they say no wedding until I have enough money in the bank, enough status here.”

Shit.

I didn’t know people – even elves – still thought that way. 

But – does it really matter that much?

“So – no wedding,” I say, and I shrug, “but – this isn’t the Third Age. Just live together, like everyone else does. So long as you’ve enough to get by – and don’t tell me you couldn’t manage – and – Arwen has a job doesn't she – what does she do anyway?” and how, I wonder, do I not know? “I guess – it’d be nice to be married before you have kids – but – actually, Elrond, Celebrian – they can’t stop you marrying. Arwen is of age as much as I – Ada doesn't have any say in my lovelife. They can only stop the huge party at their expense.”

And personally – I’m working on that. 

There might – just might – be a party for us, one of these days.

No idea what G would make of that. Put up with it, I suppose. If I make it worthwhile.

Well.

That wouldn’t be any hardship.

Anyway.

Aragorn looks at me, and then away,

“You don’t understand,” he says, and there’s a grim twist to his mouth, “Arwen loves her parents. She feels – if we marry – she’d be giving up a lot – hurting them a lot – so she agreed to their conditions.”

Fuck.

I open my mouth to say – then she doesn't love you much – because I know, I know, there is no way that however much I love Ada – and I do love him dearly – I wouldn’t give up G. Nor would G, me. Whatever the threats, or words, or – or doom pronounced.

Then I stop.

I don’t think that will help.

Poor bastard.

“Well,” I say instead, awkwardly, “no-one here wants you to not make a success. I – I’m not disagreeing with you for fun – no-one is. I – I just – maybe I’m thinking longer term than you, that's all.”

He nods.

“You’re still wrong though,” I add, “no bloody way is the price of those going down. What are you expecting? Some kind of crash? Oil isn’t going down – that's what’d need to happen to make what you say the right thing to do.”

He growls something – typical bloody mortal – can’t take an apology, an outstretched hand – and then visibly pulls himself together and we go back to our desks.

But I keep an eye on him after that.

 

 

 

I don’t understand Arwen. 

Not at all.

If I knew her better, I’d ask her – but I don’t, I never did. Always avoided her – bad enough to be – well. I didn’t want a name for preferring to play with her than with the idiot twins, not when we were younger.

As for the idiot twins – I don’t think they’re in London – Ada said they’d been shipped off somewhere – running some outward bound type thing – something to exhaust them, maybe make them grow up. Good luck with that, Elrond, I think. Nothing bar tragedy would do that to those two – and I wouldn’t wish that on them. 

Still.

I don’t understand Arwen.

But – part of me – a grudging part – comes to like Aragorn.

Oh, he’s everything I thought – scruffy, desperate to prove he belongs, he fits in – but aren’t we all, sometimes? – eager, keen, a big believer in working together – I keep expecting him to start singing that bloody “Everything is better when we’re part of a team” song – and very, very focused on the now, on money today, not long term results.

Mind, I can see why.

He’s persuasive too. Thinks up good arguments.

I notice – not always, but – a lot – people are listening to him. In fact – I’m not the only one not, but – I think I might be the one who is holding out the most.

When I realise that – I do some thinking.

 

 

 

“Ok,” I say, “ok, you can all laugh, but – I give in. This time. You may – just may – no, I think you do – have a point. Short term – these are overvalued. So – ok. We sell, we get out – no more lovely solar panel stocks. But – I’m keeping them on a watch – I’m still interested – it’s good technology, they’ve got a good process – but – yes, they need to be revalued. So – watch and come back in when the market’s settled down a bit.”

There’s a moment of silence.

It isn’t often I climb down like that – it isn’t often I’m wrong.

In all honesty, I don’t think I’m completely wrong now. I think – they would be worth holding – but – sell and buy back later – yes, alright. This once.

He catches my eye, and he nods an acknowledgement. 

It doesn't come easy to him, I suspect, any more than my accepting his idea does to me – but – well. It is supposed to be about teamwork, about the best value for the client, not sticking to your own ideas, right or wrong. When the facts change, the wise change their minds.

So.

And – if there’s a part of me that knows I partly did it because – because I too have been in love, and desperate, and – and needed to make all well – well. No-one else needs to know that.

The sales go through. 

I watch, as my lovely solar stocks continue to bounce along – no big ups, no big downs – and I watch as his other ideas – often pay off.

He’s a fast burn, though. It’s all about now.

I don’t think he understands long term at all.

Still.

Time enough to teach that – or let someone else do it.

 

 

 

I’m distracted, deep in reading about some wonderful new way of reclaiming desert – when Kate prods me – literally – to ask if I’ve seen the way oil’s been moving.

“No, I bloody haven’t,” I say, I don’t like being interrupted, and she knows it, but she laughs as I grump on, “ethical, environmental, that's us – not bloody oil stocks.”

But I look, and I see what she means – and I see what’s happening to the share prices of the solar sector – and – fuck me, the bloody Man was right.

Right, ‘Las, I think, time to go say so. Bring out the charm, the style.

“You were right,” I say, “I don’t know how – I don’t see how you could have predicted the oil slump – but – I should have seen how overvalued they were,” I shrug, “it sounds like an excuse but – any other year – I think I would have,” and I flush, because – we aren’t friends, and this is – personal, but he grins, 

“I heard,” he says, and when he looks like this – I can almost see why Arwen might think he’s worth it – he holds a hand out again, “congratulations. Moving in together – it’s a big thing for elves.”

Oh sweet. He actually thinks – he believes all that – Laws and Customs of the Eldar stuff. How cute is that?

So – he and Arwen aren’t even – bloody hell.

Poor bastard.

No wonder he looks grim a lot.

Still.

Even with my history, moving in together is a big deal – not somewhere I really thought we were headed – so – I don’t disillusion him.

“Thanks,” I say, and I feel the flush deepen, feel my ears burn, “yes. It’s been a big – adjustment. To say the least.” And, I think, and I need to – get myself back together. But I don’t say that. Never admit weakness – Ada taught me that. I add, meaning to be friendly, “You’ll see. One of these days.”

And instantly – the cheer is gone. He looks grim as ever, and he doesn't meet my eye.

I perch on the desk, leaning towards him, because – I don’t know – I just – he seems so isolated. I’ve noticed – he doesn't have that many friends among the Men – he doesn't seem to find it easy – yet – he isn’t an elf, and we all know it. Colleagues, people he is friendly with, but – not real friends, I don’t think. And he looks – so weary.

“What?” I say, and then, “tell me. I – I might understand. It took us a while to sort ourselves out – I’ll tell you sometime – we had – issues.”

Understatement of the fucking year, ‘Las.

He looks at his hands, and I notice a ring that he touches, plays with, and then, “You didn’t say it – not quite – before – but – I thought – elves are as they are. Not – not quite in the modern world – only – the way you spoke – and – I look at what I’m doing here – and – I’ll never get to where Elrond says I need be – not and still be young enough for it to be fair to ask Arwen to keep her word – and – “

“And he’ll move the sodding goalposts on you, bloody Noldor,” I say, and – and I hear G in my words again, and I think – I need to stop this. I need to stop picking up bad habits.

He nods, and I – I am silent a moment.

Then I decide.

“Aragorn,” I start, “I don’t know Arwen well. But – elves – elves have always been capable of defying anything for love. Think about Luthien, about what she did. And all the other tales. I don’t think Idril married with Turgon’s whole-hearted blessing – he only gave in with better grace because he wasn’t such a stubborn old fool as Thingol. Elves – we love once. We give love – and if we mean it – that’s it. I – you don’t need to hear it all but – I know even my father – Thranduil – and I’m guessing you’ve heard enough to know he is not an impulsive, emotional type – he dared my grandfather to disown him for love of my mother,” I sigh, “much good it did them, she’s been dead since – since I was seven. But – they were happy, I think. Daerada backed down. And that was – a long while ago. Near a century. Elves – we aren’t as medieval as you think. It’s up to you, but – I think you should talk to Arwen. Properly. She might be thinking you don’t want her to act, to come to you, to stand up – she might be feeling trapped in a role just as you are,” I shrug again, “if not – then – maybe it isn’t love. Maybe it’s just – convenience. Because if you love someone – then you don’t let stuff get in the way.”

And I hear myself, and I smile again,

“I’ve heard Glorfindel say that,” he says, slowly.

I don’t say anything.

There’s silence, for a long moment. 

Maybe I will leave him to think this one over.

“Up to you,” I say, “but – anyway – well done. It’s been a good start for you.”

He grins this time, properly, and I stand up to walk away.

 

 

 

 

Of course, the rest of the day is broken up with people coming to tell me what a good thing it is I listened to bloody Aragorn, and aren’t I glad I won’t be having to explain how I missed that one, and oh dear, that wasn’t like me, raised eyebrows, and so on.

It’s all in – reasonably – friendly rivalry.

But.

I’m glad it’s a Friday, glad when it gets to five-thirty, and I can walk out the door.

I look at the tube station – but – no.

I’d rather walk.

Half-way, I get a text.

_Forgot 2 shop. If u want 2 eat bring it/book table. Xxxxx._

I don’t answer.

I just smile, and think – sod that. I don’t do Tesco’s – G hasn’t really got used to how much money I have yet. I’ll phone, order delivery later.

Let’s work up an appetite first.

I do stop though, just across the road from my – our – building, and buy flowers. Lots of flowers. Roses, orchids, lilies, little tiny citrus trees. Almost an entire fucking forest of flowers.

I like flowers. And little trees.

Not that G really cares about flowers – or any plants really – but I like buying them. It feels right.

Last week was bonsai.

Have to celebrate Friday somehow, if I’m not going out on the pull. Not that I put it like that – I’m not that daft.

We should have more plants. Make the flat a proper home.

After all, it’s not just me any more.

Two of us.

And then – past the concierge, lift to the twenty-fifth floor – fuck I love the view from here – but – right now, there’s only one view I want.

I open the door, and above the blast of Aerosmith, I call out, and – I don’t care the music’s so loud G won’t be able to hear me, I don’t care that the flowers were probably a waste of money, that G will laugh, and sigh, and call me a daft sodding wood-elf, I don’t care what we end up eating tonight or how late – and most of all, I don’t care how much damn money I could have lost today. 

Aragorn made the right call, saved the day.

But money isn’t everything.

It isn’t money that makes the world go round.

I call out,

“Honey, I’m home!”

Because – I am.

**Author's Note:**

> Teitho, I am sorry to say, does not allow "overt" slash, hence the ambiguity over Legolas' partner. It does also, pleasingly, allow those who read this first to still enjoy Common People without knowing the outcome......


End file.
